Faithful
by the lola
Summary: "She can't decide whether this gnawing suspicious feeling at the back of her mind is something she should be worried about. Maybe today is the day she should put together the pieces of this jumbled, shattered puzzle."


Astoria sits in the vast, empty dining room. She stares blankly at the oversized table, tracing nonsensical patterns into the grainy mahogany wood with her sculpted nails.

She can't decide whether this gnawing suspicious feeling at the back of her mind is something she should be worried about. Maybe _today_ is the day she should put together the pieces of this jumbled, shattered puzzle.

Her heart thumps against her chest and she can feel the icy claws of panic growing larger, clamping down tighter. She can't decide if she would _care_ if it was true. Many arranged marriages were like this, she never _expected _to be happily married.

But she was. And now she's not.

She runs things through in her mind, again and again, desperately trying to comprehend all that's happened. Keeping her breathing steady, she digs her nails into the wood and tries to list the facts.

Draco is a Death Eater.

Draco works at the Death Eater headquarters.

Draco is in a high up position.

Draco is respected.

Draco works… five, six, seven days? She isn't sure.

Draco has to torture a confession out of Hermione Granger.

That is solely Draco's job.

He has to feed her, keep her locked in, and torture her.

Astoria deduces that he must spend the most time with Granger.

Draco used to talk about Granger in a derogatory way.

He doesn't anymore.

But she is a mudblood. An ugly, traitorous, bushy haired, weasley loving, mudblood.

Except Weasley is dead. Draco seemed rather pleased about this fact. Astoria had thought it was because he had always loathed the Weasley boy. Maybe it was something else.

Astoria shakes herself a little, trying to snap out of this state of mind. She is a Greengrass! Greengrasses do _not_ question themselves. She is _beautiful_, elegant, loquacious and very proper. What is not to love?

She lets her face fall as she once again realizes the emptiness of this room. No one is here. No one is _ever_ here. Even if Draco cares, he doesn't show it. No one cares.

She stands up and moves towards the circular window. It's obvious by the inky sky that night is just about here, and no Draco. She opens the window, not bothered about the heavy rain. The house is too hollow, too vast, too empty. She wants something, some_one_ to fill it.

So the rain pours in, howling and rushing and dotting itself allover the burgundy rug. She curls up on the cold marble floor, wishing more than anything she could just sink into it. Her knees start to shake as the bitter wind seeps into her skin, her muscles, her bones, her heart.

Is he cheating? Would he _possibly_ be being unfaithful? She scrunches her sore eyes shut and tries to think of nothing. Because she knows it, she knows it's true.

_He doesn't kiss you the same._

_He doesn't have sex with you anymore._

_He rarely sleeps in your bed._

_You know your husband. You know something isn't right and you're sure it's to do with Granger._

_He's either too nice about her or too vicious. _

She puts a trembling, pale hand to her head, and tries to shut the truth out. She's disgusted, so much so that she's suppressing her heaves. But also, she knows that she would stay with him till the end of the world.

Desperately, she wants it not to be true. She wants it to be something her mind has conjured up in its solitude and boredom. But the emptiness of the room around her, of the grey walls and the marble floor, of the open window, of the rug and the paintings says otherwise. Everything around her screams empty.

But she will not cry. She will not _dare_ cry. She blinks furiously and bites at her lip, reprimanding herself for being so _weak_. Hugging her knees to her head, she lets her eyes droop and the rain drench her.

That's when she hears him. When the rain has stopped rushing and the sunlight is peeping through the trees, he steps into their dining room.

Astoria tries to speak, but finds her voice is hoarse from disuse.

Draco stares at her expectantly, eyes occasionally flicking to the water marks covering the whole room.

"Why do you love her and not me?" She dares ask, in the quietest voice she's ever used.

Panic flickers across the blonde haired mans expression, "What are you talking about Astoria?"

Her face darkens, and she narrows her eyes. "You know what I'm talking about. The mudblood."

His face suddenly drops. "Astoria… have you been taking your medication?"

She gets up; her soaking wet dress and hair stuck to her thin frame. Her face contorts into an expression of anger. "My medication? _Why_ should I take my medication if there's no one here to make me take it? Just admit it, admit you're _fucking _the mudblood rather than torturing her!" She hisses angrily.

He sighs, running his hands through his hair and looking up to the ceiling. "You _have_ to take your medication Astoria. Come here. I'm not cheating on you." He moves towards the angry witch, sliding his strong arms around her drenched body.

"But why? No one forces me too. I don't _need_ it when no one is around!" She struggles in his grip.

"Because even with no one around the paranoia and anxiety eats away at you. So much so that your mind _makes_ things up. Come on, you need to take your pills, get dry, and sleep."

Her face crumples. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay."

A/N- How was that? It was written for the first round of the Speed of Lightning Competition. We had to include the line "Why do you love her and not me?" I hope this wasn't too confusing, and now you understand the thoughts Astoria was having because of the anxiety and paranoia she experiences. Dont forget to review! :)


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